


Mean Fucking Bastard

by Marshview



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Heavy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 19:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12990546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marshview/pseuds/Marshview
Summary: Draco is a mean fucking bastard.





	Mean Fucking Bastard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/gifts).



> This is dedicated to lq_traintracks (Lumosed Quill), for kindly encouraging me to screw up my courage & post something.

Of course I use the internet. Just because I came from a pureblood wizarding household doesn't mean I can't use the latest technology. I aced _Arithmancy_ , for Merlin's sake. I've got this. I can Boolean with the best. And, yes, I read all that all that ludicrous 'Drarry' fanfic, of course I do. We read it to each other, actually, and have a right laugh. We love the really smutty ones the best. We've gotten some deliciously filthy ideas that way, thank you very much. And no, I will not share which ones. Go read them for yourself, you fucking pervert, you. 

Most of the tales are pure nonsense, of course, but once in a while a story will actually get pretty close to the truth. Still, the authors rarely portray me accurately. Salazar, most always they make me too fucking... _nice_. As if, after Voldemort died, I was made to drink some kind of a permanent personality enhancement potion, and all my arseholery leached out of my pores and evaporated? Not true. Not true at all.

Hmpf. Reformed Death Eater. Well, yes, reformed in the sense that I don't consciously go around trying to maim people, though if you'd really read between the lines you'd already know that wasn't my style from the very beginning. What they don't realize is that while it's true my infamous reserve has its limits, that doesn't mean that when I lose control, I break out into soft smiles and magnanimous tolerance. No, indeed. When I break, it's hideous. 

I'm mean. I'm still such a mean fucking bastard. It's just my nature, I suppose. Most of the time I shove it down deep, especially for him. It's not as if I ever want to be truly mean to him, not anymore. I love him so damn much and he deserves so very much more than I can ever give, more than I can ever be. And yet he wants me. He wants _me_. It's the world's biggest mystery why.

Don't get me wrong, I do love to yank his chain. And he loves me for my snark, of that I'm well aware. He knows, and I know he knows, that those little moments - the ones where I let out just a tiny bit of pique - those moments are my safety valve, a little release of the pressure that keeps my molten core of rage under wraps.

But it only works for so long, and then there will be another, inevitable time, unexpectedly and in a heartbeat, where that wretched poison inside me just boils up and spills out in a flood; ugly, bitter, hateful on my tongue. And those uncontrollable, horrible, mostly untrue words that cut him to shreds, those are the ones I truly regret. Merlin, if I could be half of the 'tarnished angel' the way that those naive, idealistic authors insist on portraying me, if only.

I would rejoice to be able rip this painful, pointless well of anger right out my chest and cast it away forever. For him, I would love to be so soft, so sweet, so gentle, all of the time. I yearn to keep my words and my actions constantly, perfectly pliant and smooth. But it's just not me. I'm no Veela. I can't breathe out perpetual cloying, dizzying charm. I can't shit rainbow fucking glitter. Not even for him.

I feel such remorse each time it happens. I console myself that he seems to want me regardless of how many times I snap. I'm terrified that this is that time he'll have had enough, that this episode is the one that breaks his love, and he'll leave. He'll decide it's just not worth it, that I am not worth it. Merlin knows, he'll be right.

What the fuck is wrong with me, anyway? What more could I do to be a better person for him? Anger management, counselling, meditation, diet and exercise, fucking vitamin supplements, even. Fuck it, I've tried it all. Not that he ever asks me to; no, he never makes me feel like I'm broken, though I well know how very worthless I am. I'm such a fucking basket case. I wish to hell there really was a potion I could take. I'm a damn fine potioneer, and I've looked into it, believe me.

But he loves me, even so. He gentles me. His precious touch soothes my raw, aching torment. He absorbs my nastiness, and somehow, miraculously, transmutes it into beauty. He smiles as he calms my storms. I need him so damn much. Oh, Merlin, how I need him. Please, please don't ever let him leave. He's my everything. Please, Sweet Salazar, let me find a way to be different, to be better, to less of a mean fucking bastard. Before it's too late. Please.


End file.
